


Three Rings

by Aussie_Lass



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Also Glorfindel is Glowy, Erestor is Practically the Only Reasonable One, Excessive Number of Wizards, F/M, Politics as Usual, Thranduil gets Jealous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 04:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11395131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aussie_Lass/pseuds/Aussie_Lass
Summary: A meeting in Mithlond turns into a more interesting adventure after Thranduil manages to see and hear things he was not meant to.





	Three Rings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lynn  
> Beta read by Flightless Pegasus  
> 2007 Stocking Stuffer Swap
> 
> Original Request: 
> 
> NC-17, Angst, drama, romance, suspense. Thranduil is the Villian who kidnaps Olora, a Maiar, who possesses a jewel shard that is hidden inside of her and the Mirkwood King wants her powers. Not only does he wants her powers, but he vows to make her his queen whether she likes it or not.
> 
> Olora looks: She is medium tall, slim, curvaceous. She is beautiful with dark skin and long dark lashes that bring out her brown round eyes. Her hair flows in dark curls past her shoulders. Her weakness is pain in her right chest.
> 
> Thranduil looks: Handsome, aristocratic face, green eyes, long blond hair that he keeps in a long braid.
> 
> Please DO NOT include = No BDSM, No slash. I don't want my oc, Olora to die nor do I want Thranduil to die.

Thranduil waited until the servant finished pouring water into his glass before leaning closer to the Elf sitting beside him. “Erestor? Who is that?” he asked, his eyes shifting in the direction of the lady standing between Galadriel and Elrond. She was currently being introduced to Cirdan, making Thranduil feel even more uncomfortable than when he had first arrived in the Havens earlier that week. There were so many secret conversations happening, and so many people he was not familiar. No one had offered to introduce him, and every time he made to greet them somehow Galadriel managed to show up and intervene, ushering whomever it was away without an explanation. He hoped that Erestor, whom had fought beside him in the last war, would not act the same way that the evil tree queen of the Noldor did.

There was a moment of hesitation before Erestor answered. “I would worry less about who she is, and worry more about who they are,” he said in reference to the quintet of cloaked and bearded men huddled together, whispering conspiratorially. Two of them, one dressed in blue and another in white, eyed the Elves with suspicion. There was another in blue, one in brown, and the fifth, and the only one smiling, in grey.

“Galadriel told you not to tell me,” accused Thranduil, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No,” replied Erestor after a few seconds. “I just think we need to concern ourselves with them, and not her.”

For a moment, Thranduil relaxed, and a smile curved the lips of his handsome face. The Elven King gave Erestor a sharp nudge. “You do not know who she is either.”

“No.” Erestor shot a dark look in Galadriel’s direction. “It would seem she has a keeper.”

Thranduil’s eyes strayed away from the Lorien Lady and back to the mysterious woman. She was darksome, with skin the color of chocolate and darker hair that curled down to her waist. He had only glimpsed her eyes once, but they resembled liquid chocolate and something about her made him want to drown in those eyes, if he could but get close enough to her. Galadriel had made it quite impossible, however, and now it seemed he was not the only one being kept away. “She is pretty,” remarked Thranduil casually to his Imladrin friend.

Erestor turned his head slowly, giving Thranduil an incredulous look. “If she is merely ‘pretty’ to you, then I should think you would say the silmarils were but common stones.”

“Mmm.” Thranduil’s first guess was true, it seemed. Galadriel was protecting the beautiful young woman, and with good reason. A quick survey around the table confirmed his assumption – more than half the males seated there were stealing looks in the newcomer’s direction, while the others less discretely openly stared, including a blond ellon sitting with the Imladrin delegation whom Thranduil did not recognize. “Well, I saw her first, so—“

“She arrived in Rivendell with the Lothlorien delegates and traveled here with us,” interrupted Erestor. “Technically, I saw her first. That did not aid me in discovering who she is.” He grinned when Thranduil narrowed his eyes at him. “However, I doubt my wife would appreciate it if I brought her home, whether I know her name or not. Besides, I think you will have trouble enough dealing with Glorfindel.”

Thranduil blinked. “Glorfindel? Who was foolish enough to name their child after a fallen hero like that?”

“No one.” Erestor lowered his voice and said, “The Valar were foolish enough to let him be reborn. I suppose I should not be so harsh, but he and I have been sharing a guest room, and sleeping has been difficult.”

“How so?”

“He glows.”

Thranduil snorted in the most inappropriate manner, but the noise of many conversations happening at once covered it. “Come again?”

“He glows. He bloody... glows. You cannot see it in the daytime, but wait until later, and you will see. I can see why Elrond offered him residence in Rivendell. With Glorfindel around, we will save in candles.”

“So I take it the youth over there is him,” Thranduil said, inclining his head slightly toward the ellon who was still staring at the mystery woman.

“Youthful in body, but in spirit and mind he is an elder to both Galadriel and Cirdan. Scary thought,” he added as Cirdan began to call for the meeting to come to order. “He has the looks, and the knowledge and wisdom of how to use them. You may well be outmatched this round, my friend.”

Identities were revealed once the meeting was underway. Cirdan explained to everyone how a ship had arrived some months ago, carrying six passengers: five wizards, named in order of their ranks, Curumo the White, Olorin the Grey, Aiwendel the Brown, Alatar the Blue, and his companion Pallando, and one Elf, returned from the Halls of Mandos, all sent to aid in protecting against the great evil. He further acknowledged that secret councils had taken place between himself, Elrond, and Galadriel, and that it was decided to expand the discussion to include all of the Elven realms.

Thranduil’s mood grew darker with every word spoken. There were only two realms not included in the original meetings, his own, and the remnants of Lindon, which were barely held together by the leadership of Gildor Inglorion. Gildor had suffered the last thousand years in trying to be recognized by Mithlond, Lothlorien, and Imladris as the closest descendent of the Noldorin High Kings, and therefore, now High King himself, a task he had failed in. Only Green Wood even mapped Lindon in the dark days they were now in, and only Thranduil of the Elves at the table addressed Gildor as his majesty; it was a favor Gildor returned to Thranduil only as the discussions commenced. An exchanged glance showed Thranduil that Gildor was none too happy with what had been happening behind their backs, either.

Thren Galadriel took her turn in talking, and asked the council to welcome Olora, a Maia who had been residing in Middle-earth since the middle of the Second Age. The lady many had been admiring stepped forward and gave a nod of her head before thanking Galadriel for her hospitality and for her patience.

“If she has been in Middle-earth all this time, does that mean Galadriel has been keeping her hidden in Lothlorien all this time?” wondered Thranduil, whispering very quietly to Erestor.

“It would certainly explain a lot about Galadriel,” answered Erestor back. “I always wondered how she turned a bowl of water into a magic mirror. Lothlorien in a large place, with many trees. Easy to hide in.”

The remainder of the meeting was a discussion of how to proceed – politics as usual, as Thranduil liked to say. There was a proposal from Lothlorien to create one supreme army of Elves to fight against the darkness; Mithlond reminded them that the only one with such power would be the High King, and that without one it was not possible to declare a leader; Gildor reminded them that there was a High King, and the meeting became more uncomfortable. Curumo offered reluctantly to offer himself as said leader; Olorin gently explained that they should not become so involved. Galadriel proposed Glorfindel be the one to take charge, for what other reason had the Valar sent him? Despite being the first thing everyone could agree upon, Glorfindel declined, saying he was not king nor general, and had more important matters (which he would not share) to attend to.

The bickering continued, as Thranduil expected it would, but only until a slight movement caught his eye. He watched Olora grip her chest on the right side, and immediately Galadriel interrupted the conversation to motion for adjournment. This was swiftly seconded by Elrond, after which Galadriel whisked Olora out of the room, leaving a group of stunned delegates in her wake.

Cirdan offered refreshment in his hall to those who wished the company of others, and service to rooms for those preferring to eat alone. Erestor made arrangements with one of the maids for his food to be brought to the suite he was sharing with Glorfindel and wearily bid a good evening to Thranduil just as Gildor approached. “That was odd, to say the least.”

“Odd is too little a word to describe that, just as pretty is too little a word to describe her,” said Thranduil.

“I am in agreement with you on both points.” Gildor motioned to a door that led outside. “There is still some light left. Can I interest you in a walk before dinner, your highness?”

“That sounds ideal, your majesty.” Thranduil and Gildor made their way down a flight of stairs and across the courtyard to the gardens. The discussed the events of the meeting and how things were going in each other’s realm to begin with, but as they drifted further and further from the inner city, they spoke more openly about their true feelings on the matters of the day. “I am very suspicious of Galadriel. I know she is kin to you, Gildor, but for her to keep secret for so long someone so powerful is very strange to me.”

“It ails my mind as well,” admitted Gildor. “All I can assume is that she trusts us not; I wonder what else she is hiding if she has been hiding this. Perhaps there is someone wrong, though, if their sudden departure is any indication.”

“I wonder that myself.” Thranduil changed the subject to something less controversial, giving himself a chance to cool down before dinner, and to secretly consider the mystery lady while he pretended to listen to Gildor as they walked.

When they returned, Gildor chose not to join the group for dinner, and took his leave to return to his room to rest instead. This left Thranduil to wander through corridors in search of the hall that Cirdan was hosting dinner in. Having only been in the havens a few times previously, Thranduil was not familiar with the layout, and ended up in a hallway with an open door at the end of it. He strolled closer when he heard voices, prepared to tell the truth that he had gotten himself lost if anyone should exit the room or approach from another direction.

It was easy to place two of the voices, for they were those of Elrond and Galadriel. The third was not familiar to him, a lyrical, soothing voice that spoke few words. Thranduil silently stood as close as he dared and listened to the conversation.

“It is not safe to try to dislodge it. I fear I would do far more damage.” Elrond.

“Perhaps there is someone with other knowledge in this field. Some healers specialize in different things.” Galadriel.

“Lord Elrond is the best. It is what everyone has told me.” Mysterious voice. Somehow, Thranduil guessed that the mysterious voice belonged to the mysterious lady.

“If I knew of someone else, I would consult with them. However, and I do not say it to brag, Olora is right.” Elrond.

“But the pain has been getting worse.” Galadriel.

“I will just need to find a way to manage.” Mysterious voice, probably Olora.

“I wish I knew a way to remove it.” Elrond. He sighed, and kept talking. “Something so tiny should not have such an effect, though on the other hand, only Celebrimbor knew the secrets of what he was creating.”

“This sliver of the jewel from your ring which I carry inside of me is both bane and blessing. Without it, I would not be in pain, but without it, I would not be able to aid in the ways I have been able to.” Olora. “The journey was overwhelming. I need to sleep.”

“That is too dangerous here. You must stay alert in case someone tries something.” Galadriel.

“If I do not sleep, I run the risk of ruining the meeting tomorrow with my fatigue.” Olora.

“Perhaps you could sleep during the meeting instead.” Elrond.

“No. You will both be in the meeting, and would not be able to stay with me. I must sleep and I will need both of you to stay here and keep guard while I do.” Olora

Thranduil would have stayed longer but the faint squeaking of a tea trolley being wheeled down the hall caused him to duck around the corner. The trolley stopped outside of the door, which was knocked upon. Elrond bid whoever was there to enter, and then the trolley was taken inside and the door was shut. Thranduil scratched his chin thoughtfully before making his way back through the passages to find the dining hall. What he stumbled upon next was almost as interesting as what he had heard.

As he passed a window that overlooked the garden, he spied Cirdan and one of the wizards huddled beneath a maple tree. When he returned to the window, Thranduil swiftly unlocked it and pushed it just enough to open it a crack. He strained his ears to listen to the conversation below as he watched Cirdan remove a jeweled ring from his finger.

“Elrond has the most powerful one, gifted to him by Ereinion Gil-Galad before his death. Another was given to Galadriel. This is the third, Narya, and I am its keeper. However, your actions and your words tell me that you should be the one to bear this ring. It contains within the stone the secret of flame and shadow. You know what I speak of.”

“But should these not remain with the Elves?” asked the wizard. He was the one dressed in grey, and he leaned on his staff like an old man, though Thranduil was well aware of the fact that Maia sometimes acted very differently than they really were. This one, feigning feebleness, was probably the strongest of the five.

Cirdan held the ring out. “Olorin, I cannot make you take it, but you and I both know you should. Elrond needs Vilya to protect Rivendell in the North and Galadriel needs Nenya to aid in keeping the South lands free. I am of little use here in the West, for if the servants of Morgoth and Sauron reach the havens, there will not be much left for me to do except sail for Valinor and pray that the Valar will intervene. You have plans to travel, and to go East. Your success may well hinge upon this. I offer this to you, Olorin, of my own freewill.”

“It is unwise not to accept the gift of a friend,” said Olorin, and he took the ring and slid it onto his finger. There was a momentary sparkle of red, and then the jewel dimmed once more.

Thranduil stepped back from the window, his appetite lost. For long years, he had wondered how the darkness had managed to creep into Greenwood. It baffled him how the realm once peaceful and lush was now being overrun with spiders and other evil creatures, while they seemed to bypass Lothlorien and ignore Imladris completely. He now had his answer, and it sickened him. If rings of power had been made, why was one never given to his father? Why was Greenwood overlooked?

To Thranduil, the answer was simple to him: Galadriel was a kinslayer. Gil-galad was the son of one. Cirdan had not been, and should have denounced the actions of the Noldor, but instead he stayed on friendly terms with them. It made sense, then, that Celebrimbor Curufinion would have provided protection for their realms and not for the Silvan stronghold. It did not make Thranduil any happier to reason out the logic of the situation.

As dinner was no longer an option, Thranduil decided to confront someone about his recent discoveries. He inquired with a maid as to who was assigned to which rooms, and some time later was knocking on the door of the room that Erestor was in. Thranduil was beckoned inside with a quizzical look, and Erestor remained silent for Thranduil to explain himself.

“Erestor, where are your loyalties?”

One brow arched. “That is a very strange question to ask me.”

“In times like these, I do not see how it is. All things equal, son of Saeros, which lord do you swear your allegiance to?”

“None of them,” answered Erestor carefully, “save for one who is long dead. I work for Lord Elrond; my fealty still lies with King Elu Thingol. You should know that.”

“I am being cautious. I have questions to ask, and must know that neither the questions nor the answers will reach the ears of Elrond or Galadriel.”

Erestor nodded. “I see. Ask your questions. Our conversation will remain private.”

Thranduil took a seat on a settee that was situated in the corner of the room. There were two beds with a chest at the end of each, and one small table at the door holding a tray of food left mostly untouched. Erestor poured a cup of tea for himself and offered one to Thranduil, who declined, but did accept a bowl of wine instead. “What do you know of magic rings?” asked Thranduil once Erestor had seated himself on the edge of one of the beds.

“I know that they are dangerous, if the wrong person should get a hold of one. I know they are dangerous even in the hands of the right person.” Erestor blew across his teacup to cool the brew. “I assume this is in regards to Elrond’s not-so-very-secret jewelry?”

“Then you know what I am talking about,” said Thranduil.

“I might. I know that when Elrond returned from the war, things changed.”

“Oh?” Thranduil swirled the wine in his bowl. “What sort of things?”

“His confidence level increased. He suddenly went from being the shy, yet intelligent herald to being the wise leader he is now. I remember how his attitude towards Celebrian changed as well. She had often visited with her parents, but the first time she arrived after the war, he was bold, and made his move to court her. As I recall, he refused to take no for an answer. The weather was the most noticeable.”

“How so?” asked Thranduil when Erestor did not elaborate.

“Milder. Snow only came when it was convenient, and it melted swiftly. Bitterly cold nights became a thing of the past, and sunny days were more common than they ever had been before. We hardly have winter anymore, and I have yet to see lightning in the past thousand years.” Erestor sipped his tea carefully. “I knew it had to be that ring, although he has never admitted it. He is very protective of it.”

“I suppose he never takes it off.”

Erestor rolled his eyes. “An understatement. I am uncertain if it would even come off anymore, he has worn it for so long. There was one day, however, that my suspicions were confirmed, in my mind at least. He had been playing with Arwen, this was some years ago when she was a wee little thing, and something happened where it slipped off. They were outside, and I still remember Celebrian at the door of my office, banging on it and looking quite frantic. She led me out to the yard where he was cursing – which he never does – and clawing at the ground, tearing up grass and uprooting flowers, trying to find something. She said it was a ring, and he was determined to find it. As he snarled at her for telling someone else and she stood to the side wringing her hands and sniffling, I calmly searched the pathway and found it beneath a bush.

“As I bent to pick it up, I was practically thrown out of the way by Elrond, who snatched it up and shoved it onto his finger. His look for a moment was one of madness, but almost instantly he calmed. He caught his breath as he admired the sapphire embedded in it, and without taking his eyes from it, apologized to me and said he was only so worried about it, for it was a gift from his father and very precious to him. I was convinced of my suspicion, as I had seen Gil-Galad wearing that very ring a number of times in the past. It was clear to me that the ring was no mere trinket, but I kept that to myself.”

“Do you know if it is missing a piece? The jewel, that is,” clarified Thranduil.

Erestor shook his head. “If it is, I would not know. I have never been close enough to examine it. He wears clothing with long sleeves to conceal his hands, if you have noticed. I think he means for no one to see it at all if he can help it. Why do you ask?”

Thranduil told Erestor everything he had learned that evening, from the conversation in the healing room to the exchange between Cirdan and the grey wizard. “If she is as powerful as it seems she is, I want to know why she was not sent to Greenwood. Galadriel did not need another means of aid if she has a powerful ring already.”

“Not to mention the treasures she stole from Doriath.” Erestor smirked when Thranduil’s eyes widened. “Who do you think sacked the treasure that the Feanorians, Dwarves, and Dragons did not find? She has Melian’s mirror, among other things. I only know from things I have overheard Celebrian and Elrond say.”

“I wonder if Elrond wonders how dangerous you are, my friend,” mused Thranduil as he finished his wine.

Erestor grinned. “Why do you think he keeps me around? Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and the ones you are not sure of as your chief counselors.”

“Old Nandorian proverb?” guessed Thranduil as the door opened. Into the room stepped the reborn Elf who had been at the meeting earlier. “Thank you for the conversation, Erestor, I should take my leave,” said Thranduil as he stood up.

“Sorry. No need to leave on my account,” apologized Glorfindel. “I can go for a walk and come back later.”

“No need; we were just finishing up.” Thranduil set the empty bowl upon the tray. “Congratulations on your return,” he said to the warrior.

“Thank you, I guess,” said Glorfindel with a smile.

“May I ask you a question?” queried Thranduil as he stepped into the open doorway. Glorfindel nodded. “It is said that you were killed not because of your lack of skill against the demon you were fighting, but because it pulled you down into the abyss by your hair. Is that true?”

The smile on Glorfindel’s face wavered. “Aye, that is true.”

“Hmm. I see.” Thranduil looked Glorfindel over and then asked, “When did you plan to learn your lesson about that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What I mean is, most of us who are fighters have enough sense to braid our hair, or at least pull it back, like this,” he said, drawing his long platinum braid over his shoulder for Glorfindel to see. “It makes it much easier to battle if it is not flying all about like a maiden’s. You might want to try it, for next time.”

“I see. I will make a note of it, for the next time I encounter a balrog,” said Glorfindel icily.

Thranduil smiled as if the conversation they were having was still a pleasant one. “Excellent. Do let me know how that works out for you. Erestor, I look forward to seeing you in council tomorrow. Good night.” Thranduil left the room, concealing his smug look until after he had turned the corner and heard the slamming of the door.

In the room, Glorfindel stood at the door he had just slammed shut, fists clenched. He took a few deep breaths before looking over his shoulder at Erestor. “It appears your friend does not like me.”

“Do not take it personally,” said Erestor as he gathered up the remains of his supper and placed everything on a heap in the middle of the tray for the maid to take away. “He dislikes all Noldor.”

“He seems to like you well enough,” huffed Glorfindel as he opened the trunk at the end of his bed and pulled out a long robe to sleep in.

“Probably because I am not a Noldo.”

Glorfindel sighed. “Is this the part where you tell me you are not fond of the Noldor, either?”

“No,” said Erestor as he settled on his bed with a book he had been hoping to finish reading that evening. “This is the part where you figure that out for yourself.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many years later, Thranduil would blame the wine for what happened next. He had finally found his way to the dining hall after speaking to Erestor, and although the meal had been served some time earlier and had already been cleared, one of the servants immediately begged Thranduil’s pardon, settled him in a cozy corner with some wine, and promised that food was forthcoming. It was not long after that Gildor entered the room, in a sour mood as well, and joined him without invitation. “Is there another bowl or a goblet or something somewhere?” wondered Gildor as he took hold of the open wine bottle. Thranduil shook his head, and with a shrug, Gildor drank right from the bottle.

“What happened?” asked Thranduil after Gildor finished half of the remaining liquor.

“I had my bed stolen from me,” replied the irritated Elf. “Apparently, they ran out of rooms and needed one for that woman Galadriel is chaperoning about. I knew I ranked low, but not this low.” He took another swig from the bottle. “I was told they would set up a hammock in another room somewhere for me. Can you believe that? A hammock! What a joke.”

With a sigh, Thranduil shook his head. He picked up the bottle set down by Gildor and drank from it himself. “As if it is not enough for them to keep such power from us, they strip from you what little dignity you have here.”

“Aye.” Gildor drank again after Thranduil, and then paused. “Wait, what power?”

For the second time that evening, Thranduil explained everything he had learned, now including the bits that Erestor had offered without giving the name of his source. Gildor, although obviously further annoyed by the leaders of the other Elven realms, was looking thoughtful as well. Food was brought to them as Thranduil finished the tale, and they ate in silence, sharing two more bottles of wine between them.

After the plates were cleared and a fourth bottle was brought, Gildor leaned back in his chair and strummed his fingers on the top of the table. “I agree.”

Thranduil studied the drunken Elf for a moment, not yet realizing that he, too, had had too much. “With what?”

“That they should not be the only ones with the power. We should have some of the power as well.”

“Yes, but you know that will never happen. None of them will ever give any to us, greedy bastards. Not even Cirdan, who should be on our side.”

The tapping of Gildor’s fingers stopped and he grinned. “Then we should take it from them.”

“Stealing a ring from one of them is easier said than done,” replied Thranduil.

“Not a ring. The girl.” Gildor’s eyes were sparkling with mischief now, pupils dilated from imbibing too much of the sweet wine. “If they have the rings, what do they need her for?”

“Indeed.” Thranduil frowned. “She may be more difficult than the rings, though. There is no doubt that they are guarding her, even as she sleeps.”

“Yes, but I have a plan,” said Gildor as he shakily stood up, grabbed the bottle, and finished the wine.

“I thought you might.” Thranduil stood up as well, following Gildor out of the hall and out into the gardens to further discuss matters.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was a mere hour later that Thranduil and his party were riding away from Mithlond, with Gildor and his contingent behind them. With them was another person, one not original part of either group. Thranduil was carefully minding the slumbering Maia sitting in front of him on his horse as he thought to how easy it had been to carry out their plan.

Gildor had gone back to his room while Thranduil gathered and readied their escorts in the stables. Then the Greenwood King came to the spot just below the window of Gildor’s room. Gildor gave Elrond and the guards at the door a story that he had to retrieve something from the room and would be just a moment, and assured them he would do so without waking the poor girl resting inside from her sleep.

True to his word, Gildor entered the room, shut the door, opened the window, picked the lady up, and dropped her out of the window into the waiting arms of Thranduil a story below. He exited the room again, claiming to have found the missing item, and bid Elrond a good night before casually strolling away.

Once Gildor reached the stairs, he ran like there was no tomorrow. Thranduil had already rushed Olora to the stables, where his horse and the other riders were waiting. The minutes after that were so hurried that he scarcely recalled what was said or done, only that they were to leave as a group, and once on the main road, would split off so that Thranduil and his chief guard would continue on to Greenwood while Gildor and his people along with the remaining Greenwood Elves would leave a trail to Lindon in case they should be followed.

Olora slept soundly for almost an entire day. By the evening following the one they had left Mithlond, she stirred. Thranduil and his companion had made camp for the night, and were sitting and eating a meager supper when she sat up. There was no need for introductions, and Olora seemed to guess almost immediately what had happened. She was in no mood to talk, refused to eat, and when she made an attempt to escape her captors, Thranduil chased her down and bound her hands and feet. When she tried to scream for help, he covered her mouth with his hand until she cried herself back to sleep.

“Mayhaps Gildor should have taken her instead,” suggested the guard as Thranduil lowered Olora down onto a blanket spread on the ground. “She hardly seems worth the trouble of upsetting the council.”

“I think you will change your mind when we reach Greenwood,” said Thranduil. He had not given the true story to the guards that had accompanied Gildor or himself to Mithlond, only that they were kidnapping the Maian ambassador to prove a point. Thranduil laid down beside Olora while the guard took the first watch. Although the binding around her wrists and ankles would have made escape difficult, he spooned up against her and draped a strong arm around her, just in case she tried.

~~~~~~

The journey back to Greenwood was not very eventful otherwise, making Thranduil believe that Gildor’s plan to have Olora’s would-be rescuers follow him had worked. The king arrived at the gates of Greenwood well ahead of schedule and was greeted by Legolas, whom he had left in charge in his absence.

Legolas was the prince of Greenwood, yet not the son of his blood. Thranduil’s sister had died in the midst of childbirth, at the same time it was later discovered her husband was murdered by a band of attacking orcs as he tried to make his way back to the caves for the blessed event. With no wife and no children of his own, Thranduil raised Legolas as if he was his son, yet made sure that Legolas knew who his parents were and how proud they would have been of him. As Thranduil was the only parent Legolas had ever known, he treated the King with all the respect he would have a father.

It was no surprise that he was at the front gates, and hugged Thranduil upon his return. “It is good to see you back so soon, Ada. I trust your travels were safe?”

“They were,” answered Thranduil, returning the embrace, patting his nephew’s back. “Safe and uneventful.”

“And the council?” asked Legolas.

Thranduil stood back and sighed. “We can discuss that later. There is someone you should meet.” Thranduil motioned to Olora, whose bonds had been removed just before they reached Greenwood, with a promise that she would be locked in the dungeon upon arrival if she attempted another escape. “This is Olora of the Maiar.”

Legolas bowed. “Pleased to meet you, m’lady.” He paused, and frowned when she did not respond. He looked at Thranduil and asked, “Is she mute? Under a spell?”

“No, she is just rude,” said Thranduil.

To this, Olora’s mouth gaped open. “Rude? Rude?!” She stomped her dainty foot, her dark curls bouncing once. “Should I have thanked you for kidnapping me and bringing me here against my will? Or perhaps you wish to be thanked for tying me up. Is that it?”

“Did you really tie her up?” asked Legolas.

Thranduil shrugged his shoulders. “She would have run away otherwise.”

“Uh...” Legolas furrowed his brow at this somewhat irrational behavior the King was exhibiting. “Will she... will you be staying long?” He addressed Olora as an afterthought, hoping to repair some of the damage his foster father had obviously done.

“No,” she said at the same time Thranduil said, “Yes.”

“I see.” Legolas bit his lip to keep from laughing, for he knew not what else to do in such a situation. “I will have a room prepared for you.”

“Post guards at the door,” directed Thranduil as Legolas began to walk away. “Both inside and out!” he shouted as an afterthought. He turned to Olora and asked, “Would you like a tour of Greenwood?”

She stared forward defiantly.

“Great. We will start with the gardens. Oh, wait, the spiders ate them about four hundred years back. Well, we will need to start with the bathing ponds then. No, no, we cannot go there either, since the orcs use them to dump their waste into now. Perhaps the orchards... oh, but those are overrun with demonic little black squirrels, who foam at the mouth and attack any living creature, be he beast or Elf.” As Thranduil continued to list the places he would have shown her but could not, Olora’s stern gaze softened considerably. Finally, Thranduil shook his head and said, “I guess you will just have to be content looking at the rocks in this cave. Not much to see, not much to do, and it gets very stuffy and damp and unpleasant, but then, I do not possess a magic ring to allow us to live in the trees any longer, or in a comfortable house, or in a peaceful harbor aboard beautiful wooden ships.”

The tour was very short, and Thranduil escorted Olora to the rooms that Legolas had readied for their guest afterwards. “I am sorry to have upset you, but I had to bring you here. I could have made my case in Mithlond, but would you have come here if I had told you how great our need is, instead of showing you?”

Olora looked around the room she had been brought to quietly. It was nothing like the room she was given to sleep in when she was in Mithlond. The walls were hard stone, carved long ago by Dwarven hands. There were no windows and little light. There was no door, only a curtain separating the room from the stone hallway. The bed itself was even carved from the rock, heaped with cushions and blankets. Olora touched the stone, finding it cold and somewhat damp. “Probably not,” she said honestly. “I still dislike being torn away from my brethren as I was. There were still many things for me to discuss with the others, especially with my brother.”

“Your brother?”

“Olorin. He was the one dressed in grey cloaks, with the ragged hat. I really wish he would find a new hat,” she muttered to herself as Thranduil lit a few extra candles for her. “It makes him look like such a peasant.” A moment later, she gasped and her hand flew to her chest on the right side, as it had during the gathering of the council.

Thranduil stepped beside her, helping her to sit down. “Can I do anything to help you? Should I call for a healer?”

“Unless you have a healer greater than Elrond, then there is no need.” Olora rested, leaning against Thranduil for support. “I have been ailing for over a thousand years. My power is my weakness.”

“What do you mean?”

Olora touched her right side, just to the side of her heart. “During the Great War, I was there. I kept hidden, watching, as a messenger of the Valar. I kept them informed of what was going on. When Ereinion Gil-galad charged Sauron, I was there. When he was destroyed, I was there. As Sauron smote him, he raised his arm to shield himself. It was not enough to save him, but the power of the ring he wore helped to weaken Sauron. Sauron saw the ring and concentrated his destructive power directly upon it. Gil-galad was killed, and the ring was damaged. A tiny shard of it flew off, and into me. It buried itself so deep, and no one has the skill to remove it.

“I am unable to change my form, for I would risk my own destruction in doing so. The shard is, however, a small part of Vilya, and I derive certain powers from that. My own powers as a Maia, however, diminish as I travel further East and away from Valinor. This is why an offer was never made for me to aid you, King Thranduil. I do not know if I can be of much use to you here.”

Thranduil silently cursed his luck, and nodded. “Well... you should rest, and we will discuss the matter further when you wake up.” After settling Olora into bed, Thranduil left the room and paced the stone halls of his kingdom. If Olora was telling the truth and could not help his plight, then he and Gildor had taken a great risk that would likely result in a war for no gain. He hoped that she was able to do something for Greenwood, or his bringing her to his realm would be all for naught.

 

Over the next few weeks, Thranduil spent most of his time with Olora. With an escort of expert archers they explored the areas around the Elvenking’s stone palace. They roamed the caves together during the evenings. Stories were exchanged between them, and ideas of how to counter the evils that Thranduil and his people faced were brought to light, for Olora was wise even among her own people.

It was also discovered that she was not entirely powerless. In some areas of the caves that had been barren she managed to bring forth seedlings and flowers from the ground. The darkness of the caves seemed less now, and Thranduil found himself happier than he had ever been before.

In fact, the more time they spent together, the closer they became. Their late night strolls through the caves would end with long talks in Thranduil’s room. More than once they had fallen asleep on the couch, snuggled together. Things were going so well, in fact, that Thranduil had nearly forgotten how Olora had come to be in Greenwood until one morning almost two months after the fateful night he had departed Mithlond.

Thranduil was awakened very early by a frantic Legolas. The young prince was shaking his uncle, speaking so fast that Thranduil begged him to begin again as Olora sat up and stretched with a yawn.

“They are here!” Legolas rubbed his forehead and began pacing.

“Who? Who is here?”

“Everyone!” Legolas was wringing his hands now as well, shaking his head. “There are forces at the gates from the Havens, and an entire army from Imladris. Galadriel is demanding the release of Olora, and I think she means business, Ada. She pointed a sword at me, and said that you have exactly one hour to release Olora. They are keeping the gate guardians as hostages until we respond.”

Olora frowned. When she had first arrived in Greenwood, she was uncertain about Thranduil. It was only because she knew that she could have left at any time by summoning her brother that she stayed. Now, having spent the time she had with Thranduil, she had grown to know and love him. “Tell them I have no intention of leaving with them. I will leave when, and if, I ever decide to.”

“Yes. Tell them,” agreed Thranduil firmly. He looked at Olora and said, “If they try to force their way inside, fight back. I will not have them take her away.”

“I do not think they are going to appreciate that answer,” mumbled Legolas as he left the room, but left to gather reinforcements and take the message to those waiting at the gate.

Olora stood up and began to tread back and forth over the rug that Legolas had been walking on. “He may buy us time, but they are too numerous, and your forces are spread out through the forest. You cannot buy enough time to assemble the army you do have, and I doubt you stand a chance even with the full strength of your soldiers.”

“Then I suppose I must use this time to find another solution. I do not wish to fight them,” he admitted. “Too many kinslayings have there been in our past. I will not be the cause of another, but I will not let you go.”

“You may not have a choice. I fear that one or the other shall come to pass.”

Thranduil bowed his head and rubbed his temples. There had to be another solution, but the haze of sleep was still clouding his mind to it. Despite being a captable fighter and a more than apt general, Thranduil had never been one to desire a fight. Make love, not war, as the old saying went. An idea hit him, and at first it seemed silly, but the more he considered it, the more it became the most logical thing to do. “Marry me.”

“What?” Olora stopped dead in her tracks. “What did you say?”

“Marry me. Be my queen. They would not dare force you away then.” Thranduil stood up, but only long enough to walk to where Olora was standing. He bent down upon one knee and took hold of her hands. “In these past weeks, you have made me realize that there was another reason I wanted to bring you here. Of course, there was the thought of my people and the benefit you would bring, but I know now that my soul was aching for you. Deep down, I was drawn to you and would do anything to be with you, as obvious from my actions in bringing you here. Normally, I am much saner when it comes to political situations.”

“And a sudden proposal is what you consider sane?” Olora’s expression was unreadable, but inside, she was bursting with happiness. She had hoped that the noble king’s kindness was for reasons more than just her powers.

He gripped her hands tighter. “I would have courted you longer. I would have offered you anything you ever desired. I fear if you say no, I will not have the chance to see you again, and I will die without you.”

“I think you are stronger than that, dear Thranduil, but you must know that it would not be my wish never to see you again. I thought fate brought me here to heal the hurts of this land, but now I know that there was a little more to it than that.”

“Is that a yes?” asked Thranduil cautiously.

Olora laughed. “Would you take no for an answer?”

“Ah, you know me so well,” teased Thranduil back.

“Then yes, I accept your proposal. However, I fear the promise of an engagement will not stop those at the gate from coming for me, and I doubt that there is time for a wedding.”

“Then... we will improvise,” decided the king as he stood up and kissed his beloved. “It is said that when a couple consummates their love, if they speak the name of Illuvatar he will bless them and the bond will be complete.”

“You speak truthfully. Aye, there is little more than that needed for marriage in His eyes, only that each be true to their heart, and to love and cherish one another.”

“Then...” Thranduil’s gaze slid to his bed. “Will you marry me... now?”

Olora answered by tugging on Thranduil’s hand as she stepped in the direction of the bed. Her dark eyes stayed locked with his as she carefully stepped backwards until she reached it. Removing her hands from his, she pushed her dress down off her shoulders on either side, exposing dusky skin to his view. Thranduil licked his lips and came forward, lowering his head to kiss the bare skin of her throat.

As he worshipped her with his mouth, his hands untied the sash at her waist and then began to tug the dress down further until he revealed her smooth breasts. His thumbs caressed them at the center until small hard nubs formed. Then he bowed his head lower and suckled upon her until she groaned and began to rub against him in mild frustration. She tried to tangle her fingers into his hair, but the braid hindered this. As he continued to tend to one breast and then the other, she nimbly loosened his blond hair, leaving it to fall in loose waves past his shoulders. “Better... but I would be happier to see you without so many unnecessary layers,” she said as she unbelted his pants.

The king hastily removed his own clothing before returning to the task at hand. He slowly disrobed Olora further, pulling the dress she wore down until her flat stomach was exposed to him as well. Then he gently laid her down upon the bed and rained kisses upon her from her cheeks down to the indentation of her belly. She giggled when he flicked his tongue within, and moaned when he jerked the dress down to expose her completely.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” he muttered as he rubbed two fingers across the moist, warm flesh between her legs. Olora moaned in answer, raising her hips in order to feel more of his touch. Carefully, he dipped his fingers in, and she told hold of his shoulder.

“You will not hurt me, Thranduil, but time is precious. Take me, my love, or I fear our opportunity will be lost.”

With a slight nod, Thranduil covered her with his body and entered her as he bent his head down to kiss her again. His own groans now drowned hers out as he made love to her, thrusting harder and faster as she begged for it, until finally the pull was too great, and they climaxed as their souls came together as one.

Almost as soon as Thranduil collapsed beside his new wife and queen, the sound of a commotion in the hallway outside of the room came to them. Thranduil yanked a robe from the bedpost and grabbed his sword. He took a moment to pull Olora into his arms and kiss her before rushing out into the hall.

Legolas was fighting off a trio of Galadhrim warriors with his knives, doing what he could to keep from injuring them. Thranduil raised his sword and called for them to stop, but before he had a chance to block a single blade someone grabbed him by the hair and hauled him to the ground. His sword clattered against the wall, and when his vision cleared, he saw an angry yet amused elf staring down at him, a single blond braid swinging back and forth over his shoulder.

“You were right. The long hair is a hazard. I thank you for the tip,” said Glorfindel, who had him pinned on the ground. “Now, I shall thank you to hand over what is not yours.”

“She is not yours, either,” spat Thranduil as he struggled to get up. He heard Legolas curse and the sound of the smaller blades hitting the stone. There was silence for a moment, and then someone, a female, making a clicking sound with her tongue.

“Glorfindel, let him up.”

Thranduil was released from the ground, and stood up to find that Galadriel and Elrond had both made it into the caves. Each was dressed in armor, and to Thranduil’s amusement, Erestor was there as well, also in his battle gear. Obviously, it was not Erestor who had offered information to them as to what had transpired. “Is there some reason you have come to invade my home?” he asked after looking to see that Legolas was captured, but unharmed. Glorfindel placed his hand upon the king’s shoulder, perhaps thinking he might try to run off. Thranduil rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“We came to rescue Olora,” answered Galadriel. “You remember... the lady you and Gildor took it upon yourselves to liberate? We did not appreciate the chase your friend gave us, but it was worth it to have found her. Now, if you please, I would suggest you turn her over to us.”

“If she wants to go with you, I will not stop her.”

“Why would she want to stay here?” wondered Elrond.

Olora appeared at the door of the bedroom, wearing one of Thranduil’s robes. On her it dragged down to the floor despite her height, mostly due to his muscular physique. “How would you like it if someone told you that you could not be with your spouse?” she asked as she stepped into the hallway.

“Pardon?” queried Elrond.

With a disdainful sniff, Olora crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Glorfindel. “Kindly remove your hand from my husband,” she demanded. Glorfindel blinked in surprise, but lifted his hand. “Now, if you will excuse us, we still have our honeymoon to attend to.” Olora took hold of Thranduil’s hand and yanked him back into the room, pointedly drawing the curtain at the door after glaring at everyone, except Legolas.

There was a minute of awkward silence before Erestor said, “Please offer my congratulations to your king.”

Legolas nodded, looking quite perplexed as well. “I will do that. Uhm... shall I show you to the door, or do you know the way out, having so handily invaded in such a short time?”

Most of the group looked confused as to exactly where they were, but Erestor motioned toward the hallway that would lead back outside. “I know the way. Until next time we meet... hopefully under more pleasant terms,” smirked the Imladrin counselor as he ushered the would-be rescuers out of Greenwood.

Legolas waited until the group was out of the vicinity before rapping gently on the doorway. “Are the two of you decent in there?”

There was a round of giggles and laughter, and the rustle of cloth, and then Thranduil answered. “For the moment, but I cannot promise it will be for long!”

The young prince pushed the curtain aside slightly. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. It was a spur of the moment decision I will not regret for a moment,” said Thranduil, pulling Olora closer. They were covered modestly by the blankets and the robes they were still wearing.

“I meant the fact you managed to make both Galadriel and Elrond speechless. You should have seen their faces. But, I suppose I should congratulate both of you as well,” he said with a wink before letting the curtain fall back into place.


End file.
